Bompas & Parr Voyage of Discovery

Never ones to rest on their laurels, this summer dynamic duo Bompas & Parr embarked upon their most ambitious project to date; turning the rooftop of London department store Selfridges into a pleasure boating lake complete with emerald green water.

Celebrating the journey of sponsors Truvia from edible leaves ten times sweeter than sugar found on the Stevia plant in the Iguazu Falls in South America, used for centuries by the natives to sweeten their Maté tea, to its final destination as a sweetener making its debut in the Oxford Street store, the boys brought the journey to life with their pea green lake filled with 60 tonnes of water. Only the second time in 65 years the roof has been opened to the public, the project revived Selfridges' roof, which once housed a boating lake, gardens, cafés, a golf course and a rifle range, to its former glory as a pleasure space.

Intrepid explorer that I am, having taken a lift lined with battered books up to the rooftop, on stepping out into the sunshine, I was eager to jump into one of the row boats and set sail. Assisted by a caped crusader, once my friend and I were in, we manned an oar each and started rowing – backwards at first, but soon we were gliding across the kryptonite coloured water like a skate across ice, treated on our travels to a spectacular view across the capital.

En route we passed a lady dishing out Stevia covered strawberries from a silver platter, which were so divine in their sweetness, I nearly capsized attempting to grab a second. The most perilous part of the journey involved traversing a waterfall aiming to emulate the the Iguazu Falls. Luckily, we were provided with a giant umbrella on arrival, and so emerged only slightly sodden rather than soaked to the bone – just as well, given my white attire.

After our exploratory exertions, our thirst was slaked with a Stevia-infused Singapore Sling cocktail courtesy of the über trendy Experimental Cocktail Club, served from a giant cristal decanter by angle-faced sailor boys.

Should alcohol have proved too much, virgin cocktails were being handed out in plastic medicine bottles. The one I'm holding in the photo was empty when I found it, so I'm unable to report back as to the potency of the elixir inside.

After a blissful hour relaxing on the rooftop to a soundtrack of animated banter from an adventure hungry crowd, we were ushered from the comfort of cushions back down to the bustle of the perfume department via the book battered lift. The urge to pocket Hemingway's The Old Man and the Sea during the ten second journey bordered on kleptomania.

Before leaving, we were given a Stevia plant as a gift. Spurting out of the canary yellow Selfridges bag it was housed in, I paraded my plant with pride down Oxford Street and received some odd looks from fellow tube dwellers on the way home as I munched, rabbit like, on the tooth-tinglingly sweet leaves.

Jerez Feria in pictures

For three days in mid May, I was lucky enough to experience the unbridled madness of the Feria de Jerez first hand. During a year abroad in Spain, I'd made it to both the Seville and Granada ferias, but they pale in comparison to Jerez. The Jerezanos live and breathe the feria each night as if the world were about to explode. Following the bright lights, on arrival you're greeted with a cacophony of Spanish sounds, as Sevillanas flamenco music blasts from the hundreds of casetas lining the sand-filled main stretch.

The party lasts a week. By the end, everyone seems to have lost something – Gonzalez Byass GB head Martin Skelton lost his voice, John Chapman of The Oxford Wine Company his passport – and me, my Jerez feria virginity. But perhaps it's in pictures that the feria can best be captured. Below are the edited highlights from three intoxicating days under the Spanish sun. Hemingway would be proud...

The sea of lights make the night appear day, illuminating the casetas
Lanterns adorning the ceiling in the Gonzalez Byass caseta
GB's Andrew Sinclair initiating me in the ways of the Rebujito (Tio Pepe & Sprite), and incredibly popular and refreshing feria drink
In the early hours of the morning, a señorita belts out a flamenco tune
A lady in traditional flamenco dress takes time out from dancing
A galleon full of prawns at the Gonzalez Byass winery, where we ate our way around the world
Caviar canapés in engagement ring boxes - a quirky touch during a curious culinary adventure
I got two proposals that night!
Gonzalez Byass GB head honcho Martin Skelton enjoying the puds
Toothpaste tubes filled with chocolate begging to be squeezed...
A señor enjoys a Cuban cigar while awaiting entry into the bullfight
With the sun high in the sky, the seats quickly fill up and the flags come out in anticipation of the matadors
Dressed in their trajes de luz (suits of light) the matadors file out and do a pre-fight glory lap of the ring
A pair of señoritas dressed in opposing orange and green make their way to the feria through the sun drenched streets of Jerez
A besuited caballero takes a break from parading through the feria
At night the feria comes to life, when the lights look almost lace-like
Soaking up the experience: my Shawshank Redemption moment

The Nightjar

One night before Christmas, I was lead through an understated wooden door on City Road in Old Street and down a steep staircase into London's best kept secret bar - the Nightjar.

Named after a long-winged nocturnal bird identified by its distinctive warble, whose eyes twinkle like torches at night, the Nightjar is a charming '30s-style speakeasy serving up some of the best-mixed and most beautifully presented rare and revived cocktails in the capital.

Entering the dimly-lit subterranean space, the clock is wound back to an era of gin and jazz. The clandestine drinking den exudes early 20th century glamour, prettified with Art Deco mirrors, a pressed tin ceiling and a glinting copper gin still. Lining the far end are arched booths fashioned from coal cellars, packed with nattily dressed lounge lovers.

Soon after I arrive a hush falls upon the bar, and a man with a mop of mad curls takes a seat at a grand piano and begins tinkering. A whippet-thin lady in a sequined headdress takes to the stage and begins belting out melancholic Berlin jazz. Husky, haunting, hypnotic; she has crowd transfixed. Live music is the Nightjar's lifeblood. The informal salon models itself on an early European cabaret venue, and the live line up on Thursday and Saturday nights ranges from Rhythm and Blues and New Orleans jazz, to boogaloo, ragtime and swing, while vintage vinyl is on rotation late Friday and Saturday nights – the Last Days of Decadence meets the House of Elliot.

Belle Epoque and Prohibition era cocktails using the latest liqueurs, bitters and botanicals abound on the 36-strong menu, displayed in both a gold-bound book and a deck of cards, interspersed with Nightjar heroes: Buster Keaton, Duke Ellington, Josephine Baker and Kiki de Montparnasse. Head mixologist Marian Beke, of The Langham fame, is at the top of his game. Each of the well considered cocktails on the list – including Hemingway's recipe for Islands in the Stream (Santa Teresa Claro rum, lime, green coconut water, angostura bitters and sugar since you ask), are mini masterpieces painstakingly laboured over and exquisitely presented in crystal glassware.

An ideal debauchery den for discerning drinkers, cocktails are taken incredibly seriously at the Nightjar, and thus, take a while to appear at your table. But I assure you they're worth the wait. On my visit I begin with a Ladybird, recommended by Beke. A mix of Santa Terersa Gran Reserva rum, lime, prune, Belgian truffle liqueur, Caribbean spices and orange bitters, the outside of the glass is dotted with chocolate (representing the ladybird's spots), which I dutifully lick off.

Shuffling the deck of cards and pulling one out at random, I move on to a BBC, a dark, decadent and deadly mix of Busnel Calvados VSOP, Becherovka cordial and Absinthe smoke served swimming in a huge ice ball. I've imbibed many a cocktail in my time, and the BBC is utterly unique. Smoky, sexy and seriously hard to drink any more than a sip of at a time, it's like drinking a bonfire sweetened by the blood of nymphs. While I recline languorously in my chair, feeling the effects of the green fairy, my drinking companion enjoys a playfully-titled Wibble, made with Plymouth gin, pink grapefruit, lemon and sugar.

The Nightjar is my secret find of late 2010. The Shoreditch speakeasy oozes laid back charm – its beauty lies in not trying too hard. A word of warning: don't come to the Nightjar if you're hungry. Aside from the customary almonds and olives, the simple bar snack menu includes courgette fritters, saucissons with cornichons, and cow's curd with Sherry vinegar and beetroot relish, but nothing substantial enough to fill up anyone with an appetite bigger than a sparrow.

The Nightjar, 129-131 City Road, London EC1V 1JB, +44 (0)20 7253 4101. Cocktails from £8.50.